


Punching Brides and Kicking Ass

by ElisAttack



Category: Alien Series, Aliens (1986), Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors, Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Badass, Comrades, F/M, Friendship, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisAttack/pseuds/ElisAttack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenette Vasquez and Mark Drake, from their first meeting in Juvie to the amazing friendship and comradeship they share, to their possible developing romance. Rated M for bad language and sexual themes, and general badassery. Drake/Vasquez. Characters from Aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castrate the Pedophile

**Author's Note:**

> On Hiatus, sorry.

Chapter One

"Do you wanna say that again you motherfucker!" Vasquez roundhouse kicked the offending boy directly in the stomach, sending him flying to the ground  
.  
"Jenny please stop! He was only making a joke." Her sister Carmen screamed, holding onto her arm in a death grip, in constant danger of falling off.

"This little shit new exactly what he was saying!" She kicked him while he was down, not stopping even when she heard moans. "Cabron! She's fucking eleven you pedophile!"

"Jenny, Jenny." Her sister was sobbing, pleading with her. "You'll get in trouble." 

The man on the ground started weeping. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I won't say it again, plea-"

"Like bullshit you won't!" She spat on him. "I've heard some shit about you, Meyer, always getting away with shit 'cause of your mommy and daddy." Sneering Vasquez continued. "Pudrete en el infierno!" 

It was morning, and Jenette and Carmen Vasquez had left their dilapidated apartment block. She always insisted on walking her sister to her elementary school, then continuing on to her junior high, it didn't matter if it made her late every morning, walking the extra distance, she never failed to do so. 

For a fourteen year old, she was well aware of her surroundings, Jenette knew her area of Lincoln Heights, L.A was not the best area to live in, but she really didn't have a choice. Both her parents were Mexican immigrant part time workers trying their hardest to get by in a shitty economy.

While she was well aware of the world around her, her sister was the exact opposite, ditsy and well meaning, Carmen Vasquez was in Jenette's opinion, 'too sweet for the world to handle'. 

Carmen got all the looks, while Jenette got all the bite. More like Carmen actually cared about her looks, while Jenette couldn't give the slightest little fuck.

Which was how she got into this situation. Carmen left the apartment early while Jenette was still changing, running into the twenty year old William Meyer, smoking a cigarette, in the process. But because she was so polite and young, she didn't just brush him off when he started making lewd comments about her, she stopped to listen.

When Jenette finally made it out of the building, calling out to her sister, she found her pressed up against a fence with the spoiled rich bastard in question leaning up against her.

"Mhh Hmm, Carmen, for a wetback, you sure have a nice ass."

Jenette saw red.

Which was why she was in the current situation.

When someone finally noticed that the 'concha' getting beat up by a fourteen year old was actually the landlord's son, they called the cops, who had to drag the little girl off the curled up pile of shit on the floor.

His parents were not happy to say the least.

Neither were the Vasquez couple when they were promptly evicted from their apartment, to try to find a new one cheap and willing to take the 'hijo del diablo' as Jenette came to be known in her community.

They couldn't even find a inexpensive lawyer keen to take her case. Luckily papa Vasquez was originally, back in Mexico, as close to a lawyer as they could possibly find. As the former office clerk of a prominent company that spent most of their days proving (bribing) that their company did not, in fact, mix lead into paint used for baby's cribs, in order to stretch the pigments, he had a lot of experience with how court functioned. Basically, wear a suit, and stand up straight, and pray that your client does not say anything stupid. 

Makes one wonder if he even knew his suit-clad daughter.

So when Mrs. Meyer accused Jenette of practically castrating her son with her foot, she exploded telling Mrs. Meyer, in Spanish, that she could, something along the lines of, take her impotent son shove him up a donkey's arse, then get fucked by the said donkey.

Unfortunately the judge had taken an course in Spanish while doing his undergraduate. 

She was promptly sentenced to Juvie until she turned eighteen.

Funnily enough when a year later, Meyer raped a twelve year old from a prominent military family, getting her pregnant, even after he was accused and shipped to the Fiorina 161, no one thought to review Jenette's case.


	2. Swirlies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Really bad snarky language

Chapter Two

Mark Drake could smell the piss.

Oh boy could he smell it.

And for the second time today he pondered in his fifteen year old little mind why, oh why did he drive that car. 

His neighbor's car.

Without his permission.

More like, why did he get caught?

He thinks he needs better, less wimpy friends who didn't run away but instead extracted him from the wreckage. After all there is probably no better place to find some tough ones than juvie. If he could just get over the smell of piss.

Growing up, middle class in suburban L.A was not the worst fate a young boy could have, his brother seemed happy enough, but Mark Drake was just too darn bored. He lived for the cheap thrills, and the more expensive ones, like crashing his neighbor's Lexus into a freeway divider, after attempting to drag race. His mother cried, and questioned, 'why he couldn't be normal like his brother the lawyer.' To which he replied 'he had no intention of having a stick permanently lodged in his ass'. 

Today was bathroom duty for him, and unfortunately the boys here could not aim, at all. He wished he had a biohazard suit, and proper gloves, after all juvie conditions in 2164 were not very pleasant.

Suddenly he heard the door to the bathroom being slammed open around the corner, invariably someone ignored the out of order sign.

Drake, threw down the sponge and slowly rose to his feet, shouting in the direction of the entrance, "Oi! Can't you fucking read? It's out of order asshole, go piss somewhere else!"

The scuffling sounds continued. He walked over and rounded the corner, only to see two older kids holding a squirming figure in their arms.

"Hey! What's going on here?" He questioned.

"This fucking little bitch spat in my face, We're just gonna beat her up a bit, teach her a lesson." Grinned one of the boys, "Get out of our way, she's going for a nice swirly." 

Drake looked down at the tiny figure the boys held by the hair and around the waist, she was cussing up a storm in what he assumed was Spanish.

"Carbron! Merde! Let me go! No me jodas!" She screamed wiggling. 

"Let her go, she's just a little girl." Drake stated pityingly looking at the waif.

She looked up at him, with big black eyes, opened her mouth and uttered something he was not expecting, "Hey! Fuck you too! 'Little girl?' Huh? I'll mess you up!"

Drake broke into a huge grin. He really liked her. In all his fifteen years he had never met a boy, let alone a girl who was this spunky. 

Turning to the boys, he in all his scrawny pubescent self, said, "Hey, shitfaces, I bet you look so ugly because your mamma once fucked a goat."

He waited for that to sink it, and for shit to fly.

"What did you say?" One of the boys asked stupidly, because he probably really didn't understand what Drake was implying, fortunately the other boy got it in a few seconds.

"I'm gonna fuck you up, man!" He swung at Drake with a large fist.

If his middle class upbringing thought him anything, it was dodging bullies.

Drake ducked under the large arm flying towards his face, and brought his fist up to smash the boy's nose, he promptly fell to the floor, clutching his nose, eyes watering.

The other boy was so startled that he dropped the girl, and let go of her hair.

Which was when she jabbed her knee into the his jewels. 

Grabbing Drake's hand she pulled him out of the bathroom, and took off running down the corridor.

Only when they finally reached her cell block, did they stop for a breather. The girl opened her door, and pushed him into her room, slamming it shut, opening the peephole to check if they had run after them. Only when the coast was clear, did she close the cover and relax, sliding to the floor.

She looked up in relief at Drake, then burst into a fit of giggles.

And he thinks he finally found the tough friend he was looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are just too bad. Btw please do not comment on why boys and girls can be in the same detention center together, I'm following how the franchise said they meet, and apparently it's in juvie.


	3. "Besties"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Alien franchise does not scare me, it just makes me bloody sad, because Ridley Scott always feels the need to kill off the best, well developed characters...darn...

Chapter Three

"So what's your name?" Drake questioned the girl.

Still laughing, she got up and walked over to the bunk where he was sitting and firmly shook his hand, "Jenette Vasquez, nice to meet you." 

"Mark Drake."

She grinned. "Well Drake, I know you think you saved me, but Roy would have totally kicked your ass if I hadn't sacked him." She nodded knowingly. "He may not look it but he's a good fighter. And I'm guessing that since you didn't know that, you're new here?"

"Yeah, this is my first month."

"What are you in for?" She asked unabashedly.

"Grand theft auto." He stated proudly.

"Pshh, that's nothing." She snorted at him.

"What! That's pretty impressive. What did you do that's so deserving of praise?"

"I castrated a twenty year old pedophile." She said nonchalantly.

"No fucking way." Drake waved his hand dismissing her claim. "There's no way a ten year old could possibly do that."

"Hey! I'm fourteen!"

"Yeah and I'm fucking Santa Claus."

"With those eyebrows you might as well be." She looked him over. "What are you? A fucking albino?"

Drake touched his head sensitively, "I just don't tan well..."

Vasquez regarded him incredulously, "Anyway thanks for helping me."

"If that's what you call saving your hide," He snorted, "You're welcome."


	4. Kidneys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three years later

Chapter Four

"Jene! Jene!" Drake called out to the girl walking down the corridor, as he rushed to catch up with her.

No longer the puny boy, puberty hit him like a brick. At seventeen, constant trips to the detention center's gym contributed to the lean muscles that composed most of his physique. Although his hair was still as white blonde as ever, standing in stark contrast to the light blue of his eyes, a fact that Jenette never failed to remind him of. 

Vasquez changed quite a lot too, the most prominent being her figure, no one could ever mistake her for a boy now, even if she did cut off her shoulder length black locks.

The three years they spent together in what people called the most dilapidated juvenile detention center on Earth was, if anything, hectic. Their combined snark made them hardly any friends, and more enemies than anything else. But at least they had each other, and god knows they could handle anything the world threw at them.

Vasquez finally noticed Drake running after her, stopping to let him catch up. "Drake what are you training for if you already run that slow?" She placed her hands on her hips. "What's up?"

"I almost forgot."

"You think? You're a few days late."

"Happy belated birthday, Jene." He grinned. "You're sixteen, almost a woman."

He received a slap to his belly.

"Estupido." She frowned. "Carmen remembered a few weeks ago, and asked what I wanted, even though she sent me something I didn't ask for."

Drake laughed, "Then why are you wearing it?" He pointed at the bandana on her head. No matter what Vasquez said, she truly loved her sister.

"Shut up." Hitting him again, she blushed.

Rolling his eyes Drake broke away from the subject. "I have to give you something, but let's go to your room, this isn't something I can whip out in public."

Vasquez was scandalized. "Puta! I don't want to see your pequeno pito!"

Drake knew enough of Spanish to understand that.

He turned the colour of a fire engine. "That's not what I meant!" Then he realized something. "Hey! It isn't small!"

Later when they went back to Vasquez's room, Drake pulled out what he wanted to give her.

A Browning 9mm

"How the fuck did you get this in here?" She was flabbergasted.

"Oh, believe me, it was very difficult, you know Moran, right?" He whispered.

Vasquez leaned closer, captivated, "The Moran that got in here for stealing kidneys?"

"The same one." He nodded with a pained look on his face. "I traded him mine." He burst into a fit of laughter.

This time he got an elbow to his stomach.

"Fuck you, tell the truth."

Still laughing, "I bribed one of the guards."

"Shit? With what?"

"Access to my brother's bank account." He wiggled his invisible eyebrows.

Vasquez broke into a peal of uncontrollable laughter. And all Drake could think of was that he loved it when she laughed, because she giggled, and didn't appear to know it, it was so adorable in his opinion.

"How the hell did you manage to get his password?" She clutched her sides in pain, it was too funny.

"Pshh, that's easy, I know him, it's 'I have a huge dick'." 

The entire cell block was filled with pealing laughter for the next hour or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are my OTP of forever.


	5. Boiler Room Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a while ago I was informed by my boyfriend that I write fiction like I write essays (aka my writing is shit), so taking his advice I signed up for a class, with a wonderful teacher. Therefore here I am, a few months later, hopefully with all my tenses in order, better descriptive language, and some fresh new ideas. Critique Critique Critique.

Chapter Five

Jenette awoke from her sleep to the click clack of tumblers and the creaking of her cell door as it was pushed open. The sound was so unpronounced that her roommate still slumbered on, but Jenette was always a light sleeper.

She had been waiting for this day for months. Her hand tightened on the grip of the gun hidden under her pillow in anticipation.

Luckily concrete floors do not creak. So when Drake crossed the floor to her bed, the girl in the bunk above her didn't even stir.

Drake leaned on the desk opposite the bunk and waited for her. He didn't have to wait long. She was already pushing the cotton covers off herself, reaching underneath the bed for her nondescript shoes.

She was still wearing her pajamas, to which Drake raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes at him, and pointed above her to the other girl, mouthing "nosy." Jenette was going to wear her khakis to sleep, but the girl kept peppering her with questions, so she eventually consented and changed back into her pajamas. Nosy bitch.

Jenette tiptoed over to the desk chair and grabbed her clothes off the back. She didn't bother telling Drake to turn around as she changed, he wouldn't have anyway. When she finished, she took her pajamas and pillow and made a vague Jenette shaped mound on the bed, it wouldn't stand up to close inspection, but if her roommate got up in the night it would hold up to a sleepy eyed glance.

She turned to Drake mouthing, "Ready to tear it up?"

He grinned.

****

Either the guards didn't know of the existence of the monthly boiler room raves, or they simply didn't give a fuck, figuring that if the teenagers sweat off enough anger they would impart less trouble onto them; they were partly right. 

Sometimes on the 23th of the month a kid would turn up dead in their bed, a dice toss between stab wound or asphyxiation on puke, more often the earlier than the later. But if that happened there would be less fights during the rest of the month, a win win situation for the guards. Sure there would be more paperwork, but less wounds among the guards.

The raves were always held on the 22nd, because the day after monthly maintenance of the pipes, plumbing, and heating systems would occur, so all the boilers were shut down the day before. Equaling pseudo air-conditioning in the normally roasty-toasty room. Which would eventually be substituted by writhing, heat-giving teenagers bodies, and if any of the workers noticed the rank smell of B.O the next day, nobody heard anything of it.

Normally Drake would not be caught at such a sordid affair, he preferred the rank of the gym, it smelt more satisfying than the noisy din of the raves. It was more of Jenette's scene. She went for the deadly cage fights, especially tonight's fight with a rumored particularly enticing reward. 

As they walked down the dank silent corridor to the small metal door of the boiler room Drake gripped Jenette's clammy hand silently in support, only dropping it to bang on the metal door 4 times: 1 hit then 2, wait a few seconds, then 3 and 4. The door slammed open, releasing with it a cacophonic din of trance mixed with screaming, and shouting. As they strode in the bouncer Big Joe, who rightfully earned his nickname, slammed the fat heavy door behind them, leaving silence in the hall once again.

The circular room stretched up 100 feet filled to the brim with electronics and rusty pipes. On a normal day it would be too hot to bear, with all the steam and heat escaping the boilers, but because everything was shut off the fans blew cool air in from outside. All the emergency strings of incandescent lights were turned on, adding a tinge of yellow to everything inside. 

Drake was lost to say the least, he hated social gatherings, even though this was so very far from his mother's Sunday afternoon lemonade and cookies jamboree as possible. He felt an arm slither around his waist, startling him, only to look down and see Jene grinning up at him with her famous crooked smile, she drew him with her into an alcove behind one of the larger pipes. From there metal webbed steps lead up the walls to higher levels used for the maintenance of the pipes. 

she crooked her finger and drew his ear to her level. "We have to go greet someone before we can go out onto the floor, I've been ignoring his summons, so he might be a tad bit pissed." 

Drake nodded his head quizzically. 

As they passed people on the way up, lounging on the bars and leaning against the walls, Jenette nodded her head at a few of them, scowling at others. When they finally reached the top, where the electronics panel of the boiler room was located, a ratty sofa sat in the corner, surrounded by a few reclining girls and a couple of ripped men that looked like they did not belong in a juvenile detention center, but in an actual jail.

Jenette whispered to him, "Stay here, no matter what, I can handle this." 

She let go of Drake's waist and strode right up to the couch, to the only boy that looked out of place. The boy's eyes followed her all the way.

With his skinny form and silk black suit he did not fit in with his sweat clad jumper wearing crew. But he stood out from them all, very distinctly, with his hair and eyes that reminded Drake too much of his own. The only difference between them was complexion and physique, while Drake was tanned and lean muscled the boy on the couch had the consistency of a parsnip, along with the coloring of one, he looked long, thin and washed out. But Drake could tell that he held power over the group by the way the gravity among them was centered on him.

He wondered how the simple Jenette could hold his attention.

And he realized, because she was not simple. She carried herself the way the boy did, strong and true. For her small stature, she was powerful.

The boy held out his hand to her, and she placed hers into it.

"Morozko, it is wonderful seeing you again." She smiled politely.

"Dear Kotyonok, why have you not come to visit me, I have missed your wonderful company, and entertaining stories." The boy expressed in a thick Russian accent.

"I have been busy these few months, preparing."

"For what. my dear?" He furrowed his eyebrows, then all of a sudden he laughed, sending peals of laughter all around the room, everyone, Jenette and Drake included, stiffened.

Still giggling he wiped tears out of his eyes, "Kotyonok, you cannot mean that! Why should you harm yourself in that way." He sighed rolling his eyes, "Come sit here by me, where you belong."

Jenette stood up straighter. "Morozko, I thought we discussed this..."

The boy suddenly appeared in front of her, and bent down to look in Jenette's eyes, to her credit she did not even flinch, even though Drake did not catch him move from the couch. He was just suddenly there.

He dragged his long thin fingers along her cheekbone, moving his lips to her ear, whispering something unknown to her, to which she nodded. The pale boy smiled with his lips, the grin, not reaching his eyes, as he floated back down to the couch.

Jenette swallowed and licked her lips. 

Morozko stared at her, his eyes hungrily following her every move. Without taking his eyes off of her, he pointed at Drake asking, "Is he your second?"

She nodded.

With a poker face he turned to Drake mockingly saying, "I hope you have trained her to protect herself properly, or there will be hell to pay..." He left that hanging in the air.

Drake swallowed and raised his courage, "She can take care of herself."

Morozko stared at him, cocking his head to the side, finally dismissing them with a flick of his hand.

Jenette took off, striding to the stairs, shortly followed by Drake.

"Jene, Jene!" He ran trying to catch up with her. Finally he reached out to grab her hand. "Vasquez! What the fuck was that!?"

She muttered. "A hell of a lot of sexual tension."

Drake sighed running his hand through his pale hair in frustration. "Yeah I can see that. Why haven't I heard about him? You usually tell me about all the guys you fuck."

Jenette closed her eyes, raising her hand to her temple, massaging it. "Just drop it Drake, let me just go win what I came here for."

He dropped it, but swore to bring it up again after this night, but right now he couldn't afford have Jenette's attention anywhere but on the fight she had to win.

Suddenly the music cranked to a halt, and from the floor they could hear a loud booming voice exclaim.

"Now for the moment ya'll been waitin' for, the fight of the night!" Cheering rose up with every word the announcer exclaimed.

Jenette and Drake took off for the ground floor, and pushed their way through the crowd of people to the center of the floor where a large, old metal cage rested. The announcer stood on it shouting at the top of his lungs.

"The winner of tonight's battle of supremacy will be awarded these." He pointed to a table laying beside the cage, while turning to look directly at Jenette. "Generously donated by our sponsor Morozko Tolstoy." 

Right there sitting on the table guarded by Big Joe's huge ass was what those weeks of training were for: ammunition. Not just plain old ammunition, but all different kinds, the most prominent being the 12 practical magazines for Jenette's Browning Hi-Power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Morozko is like Russia's Jack Frost, a great name for this frosty parsnip OC of mine, (his last name is Tolstoy because I love Leo Tolstoy for gifting this world with the amazing book that is War and Peace.)  
> He calls Jenette "Kotyonok", which means kitten in Russian, it is very affectionate, I want to work on his story a bit more, I like his character a lot, but why does everyone respect him so much? It shall be revealed, along with why they need the ammunition.   
> I can't wait to write this fight!


	6. Elephant Politics

Chapter Six

The crowd roared. The cage fights had always traditionally been the most anticipated event of the night. Forget the dancing, the girls, the music; the blood is what the people came for. 

And the blood did flow. It was dangerous to be in the cage, because anything went. Usually the fighter's second was allowed to check the opponent for any sharp weapons and confiscate them, but if they missed something, the match was not stopped; it continued and more often than not the fighter with the sharp weapon won. Usually with the death of their opponent.

However death was luckily not a prerequisite for the fight to end, a knock out was usually sufficient, but it made for a good show, and the audience demanded it, granting respect and admiration to the winner. Respect that all desired in a place where a person could be killed for looking at another the wrong way. 

Respect was the main reason Jenette stood at the opposite end of the rusted metal cage facing a boy who resembled a one ton elephant more than a human being. 

She wanted respect, and the firepower to back it up. A paradigm shift was occurring in the prison. Power was variable and alliances were changing. And people were placing their bets on other horses, primarily because Morozko Tolstoy was to be released, soon. 

For 5 years he had been the kingpin; the pseudo emperor of 500 or so pubescent teenagers, and at 17 his sentence was finally over. The strong were practically giggling in lust over the seat he would vacate. He possessed connections and enterprises, however small, which he wanted to leave to a successor. And for reasons unfathomable to some, he wanted to follow the straight and narrow. It helped that his father was a Russian synthetic tycoon with only a few more years left to live. 

Jenette was always the political one. 

She wormed herself close to Morozko, doing favors for him, while he returned the assistance with benignity. The fight was the last thing he would ever grant her. 

At the final moment the boy set to fight Hāthī, the elephant, marched up to the emcee, shaking to his toes, and proclaimed that he would withdraw because he "knew what was good for him." Jenette could practically hear Morozko laughing. But when the boy proclaimed, angry and through his teeth, that Jenette would take his place in the fight, everyone was surprised. 

Even the most hardened girls refused to fight in the cages. When a person walked into that cage, the door locked behind them, rules were forsaken which equaled a lot of foul play, and steroid use was rampant. So only the combatant who knew they had no discernable weaknesses participated in the fights. 

And Hāthī knew he had no weaknesses, Morozko originally tried to get him to drop out, but he refused as a matter of dignity, but for how much he preached about honor he really possessed little of it. He was the dirtiest fighter there was, with the most kills under his belt, fortunately or unfortunately he preferred to fight with his bare hands, specializing in ripping throats and jaws. So when Drake searched him for any weapons he could not find a single item on him.

He didn't even bother to have Jenette searched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hāthī means elephant in Hindi, because I couldn't resist, picture a bigger uglier Jason Momoa as Conan, and you'll get what I see.


	7. Red, Red Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written from Drake's point of view since chapter 2, so here we go...

Chapter Seven

Drake would be an idiot if he didn't at least feel a little bit scared for Vasquez. He himself was freaked out by the growling sounds the big guy was giving him as he patted him down.

But when Vasquez stood up to be searched by the elephant, who did not bother to bring a second, he just waved his hand at her distastefully, smirked, and sauntered over to the cage. 

The cockiness pissed Drake off so much. Jenette was an amazing fighter: lithe and strong she could floor him in a matter of minutes. Drake hardly needed to train her, he just pointed her to the machines and instructed her to put on more muscle, and practice with the punching bag. She was a master of hand to hand. And the important part was that she could move. And no one could catch her. 

Drake had nothing but faith in her abilities, but that didn't stop him from freaking out when Hāthī jumped into the suspended cage, muscles straining as he pushed himself up, rocking the cage back in forth with his heavy weight. Drake could see veins and layers of thick, heavy muscle, contributed by the steroids Morozko sold in the prison in return for loyalty and fidelity. The moment those muscular arms touched Jenette, was the moment he knew she would die. 

Hāthī was famed for tearing his opponents to shreds. Even though Drake rarely attended a rave, he knew, through word of mouth, about the beast-man that tore out a boy's spine with his bare hands.

Beside him Jenette gulped, Drake turned to her, and grabbed her, hands on her shoulders. Looking into her eyes, desperately trying to erase his own fear, he projected confidence to her. 

"Do not let him touch you, do not even let him get near you. Use your speed and agility to run around him, he will find it very difficult to turn in the tight space of the cage, use that to your advantage." He sighed, rubbing a hand on his face. "I swear Vasquez, you give me nothing but stress." She grinned and jabbed him in the shoulder.

"Hrm what do you think? Strong enough, chico?" He laughed and turned her around to the cage, slapping her on the ass light-heartedly. She rolled her eyes, and walked forward to the awaiting elephant man, a new swaggering confidence in her step.

Suddenly Drake felt a drop of liquid land on his cheek, he swiped at it, and bringing his fingers to his nose, he smelt wine. Looking up he saw Morozko leaning casually on the bars of a 2nd floor maintenance balcony at the level of the cage. His hand was leaning over the edge, a few fingers covered in the red wine. He met Drake's eyes with severity and a cold expression. Drake stared back and brought his hand to his mouth, licking the wine off his fingers in challenge. Morozko guffawed, the smile yet again not meeting his eyes, but then icy boy looked away to the cage.

And Drake moved off to reach his spot beside the metal hulking beast.

****

As Jenette jumped up, grabbing hold of the bars of the cage door, she moved her legs, swinging them for momentum, so she could climb up. All the while the elephant just stood at the entrance, not moving to help his opponent up. He had a sneer plastered on, and looked down at her, his arms crossed in disdain. 

When Jenette finally scrambled up, he refused to move out of the way for her. 

She glared up at all his 7 muscular feet. He sneered back at her, bending down and whispering in her ear, "You may have high people on your side, little bitch," he spat the last word, spittle landing on her cheek, "but know that, in here, there is only me."

"And me." She interrupted. "So watch out elephant. She met his eyes. Make sure to look after your tail, 'cause soon it'll be tucked between your legs." She ducked around him and made her way to her corner. 

He yelled after her, "There's no chivalry here, kutiyā, so don't be expecting any."

Jenette just raised her middle finger.

The cage they were fighting in was a simple, barred, 12x14 feet metal structure, with many handholds and jagged edges that Jenette planned to use to her advantage. While she spent her time studying her surroundings and opponent, he spent his time riling up the crowd, his back turned towards her. From that moment she knew he would use his arrogance against him.

A lifetime ago Papa Vasquez declared that it was time for his little girls to become ladies, so he asked they choose something ladylike they wanted to learn so he could sign them up for a class.

Carmen chose jazz.

Jenette chose capoeira.

For two years Jenette learned under one of the best mestre in L.A, until the day Papa Vasquez decided to visit a "dance" recital, only to see his little baby girl dodge a boy's swinging arms and legs to the beat of a drum. She was withdrawn from the class immediately, to her and her master's protestations, "If she had a few more years," Mr. Santos had explained, "she could surpass many of my older students, perhaps even me!" But their pleas fell on deaf ears and Jenette was left to channel her anger out on the neighborhood boys, with whatever was left of her training in the Brazilian martial art dance.

Jenette closed her eyes and she could hear the words of Guilherme Santos echo through her head, "Keep your center of gravity close to the ground, Vasquez. And whatever you do, don't fall down." 

She smiled and opened her eyes to the roar of a crowd crazed for blood, a big hulking giant on the opposite side of a cage, tilting the floor under his massive weight, and the excited voice of the emcee declaring the start of the fight.

Jenette lowered herself into a crouched, rhythmic, rocking swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo capoeira was just another one of those classes I took and failed at, on the first day. But if you're as good on your toes as Jenette is, and like to dance, its perfect for you. If you happen to be a master, please don't hit me for my limited knowledge, like I said, one class.... 
> 
> I think I was channeling my Syrio Forell through Mr. Guilherme Santos... sorry...
> 
> kutiyā - Hindi for "bitch" of course. You would think that Hāthī could be a bit more creative...


	8. Where Do We Go From Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I owned the Alienverse, the Weyland corp would be smacked upside the head for being idiots, sadly I don't.  
> Have some fluff, after the gore of course...

Chapter Eight

If Jenette had a third eye it would be trained on the hulking beast laughing at her. Unfortunately, she only had the two. But that didn't stop her from focusing all her attention on him. He was a caged beast, just aching to rip her apart and free himself from the metal bars. God, she hated stereotypes, it's what got her in here. but in spite of everything she and her sister were legal. Even if her parents weren't. 

Damn prison steroid use. Men, and sometimes girls, never failed to supplement what they lack upstairs with what they could develop downstairs. In more ways than one. Jenette always thought she was pretty even. She had her muscles and curves, and to top it up a pretty okay brain. How else could she come up with such a witty double entendre.

The elephant, on the other hand, was perfectly stupid. Something she knew he would regret.

Still laughing he was making "come here" gestures with his hands, glancing over his shoulder at his friends.

She swore she could hear Drake slap his hand against his head in disbelief.

She could feel her right boot jiggle a bit as she rocked. With her single bullet, she couldn't shoot the 9mm from this distance into those cords of muscle, it would only slightly slow him. She needed him put down, permanently. Before he could get to her, Jenette knew she would need to get to him first. 

Plus, since the screaming audience wanted a show, she would give them a double feature. Reaching into the plain footwear, she took off, Browning in hand. 

Running directly at the elephant, she passed him to reach the cage wall. Jumping up she placed a foothold on a horizontal bar, using it to boost her weight, she jumped to the top of the cage. Grabbing hold of a bar, she swung, gaining momentum, before letting go.

He registered her movement, just as she sailed through the air.

Jenette landed on his back, her thighs on his neck, gripping him as hard as she could, with what Drake affectionately calls her "deadlies" before she switched off the safety. "hasta la vista, bitch." Cocking the gun, she blew his brains away.

****

Drake smiled, he was worried for nothing.

****

"They could have at least clapped." 

A very dejected Jenette sat on Drake's bunk as he rubbed stolen med-bay ointment on her calves.

"I wasn't expecting roaring and cheering, but silence! It breaks a girl's heart. Mierda! That stings!"  
Drake briefly glanced up at her, glaring fire, before going back to his work. Rubbing it in just a bit  
harder. Ignoring Jenette's shouts of protest.

"Well maybe you should have thought of that before you sat on a giant's back as he fell face down."

"As if I was thinking of that, when this was on my mind." She pointed behind her to the ammunition piled onto her bed.

"Speaking of that." Drake put down the ointment, and nudged Jenette over, so he could grab a magazine. 

"How do you explain this?" He turned the clip to her, displaying the clear black writing on the side. "To my girl, with love." Drake read out, sarcastically. "What? Is this guy clairvoyant?"

"No, Morozko is just too smart for his own good." She leaned closer to Drake. "Sometimes I think he's a robot."

He pinched her nose. "I doubt that robots are that good in the sack."

She glared at him, rubbing her nose, and she picked up the ointment, and went back to nursing her scrapes and bruises. "Contrary to popular belief, I've never fucked him." 

Drake raised an eyebrow.

"I haven't!"

"Well even if that's true, he sure wants to." He pointed to the ammo. "He's practically buttering you up."

Swiping the last remains from the jar, Jenette tossed it to the ground. She got up from the bed, "I'm going to the bathroom."

"A'right." Sighing, Drake collapsed back onto the bed, bouncing the ammunition up and down.

****

Jenette stared at her face in the mirror, as she plotted her next move.

She always counted on getting out before Morozko, after all she was older than him. They would either transfer her to an adult prison when she turned 18, or release her. Morozko had done much worse things than her; multiple murders, drug and weapon trafficking, you name it, he's done. If justice was true, he would remain here as long as possible, then be shipped to a full fledged prison. But the higher ups had other plans for him. So at 15, he was getting out. And Jenette would soon lose everything.

She had a lot of enemies. A lot. Even her roommate would poison her, if she could. Jenette was never the most likable of people.

And yet Mark Drake put up with her. In fact, genuinely cared about her, and she him. He was her best friend and comrade, and they could do anything together. And sometimes, as he joked, it was them against the world.

She was going to drag him into her mess. So she needed to protect him. 

And how better to do it by winning a fight in front of the whole prison in the most gaudy, garishly insane way possible. All the while, gaining the ammunition to back up the strength. She hoped no one would dare mess with her now.

But hope could never guarantee anything. She "hoped" Carmen was safe back home, the letters her sister sent every month could attest to her safety. But she could be lying, to make sure Jenette was not stressed about how useless she was, confined within this concrete establishment. Unable to do anything if another Meyer decided to come along.

She tugged at her shoulder-length curly hair, kept manageable in her sister's memory. Carmen always said she loved her hair.

She knew she had a hero complex. And evidently so did Drake, which was how they met in the first place.  
In a bathroom, haunted by the ghosts of swirlies past.

She grinned at herself, noticing the mischief in her eyes. Her undeniable wit could take her places.  
Places she would transverse with Drake by her side.

****

Mark Drake was half in sleep, laying on his back, as he heard the creak of his door opening. He cracked open one eye, and saw Jenette pad in.

She stood still, as if waiting for permission. As if she needed it.

He flopped open his left arm, and slightly scooted over. She took that as consent.

Curling like a cat, she laid her head on his bare chest. Her hair tickling him, just under his chin. Rolling until he faced her, he buried his nose in her hair. Smelling rain and earth, he drifted off to sleep in a scent that was purely her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Vasquez as resourceful, so of course she would use the gun. Plus my Hāthī is an arse undeserving of a "fair" fight.


	9. Taco Seasoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preeeeeettttty Pleaaaaaaase REVIEWWWWWW!!!  
> I have ideas for a few chapters, so I'll most probably churn them out quickly, unless I tank my big research essay, and spend the next few weeks crying my eyes out.  
> If I owned the Alienverse Cameron would have had to Hicks-ify Vasquez and Drake also. But since that didn't happen, it's safe to assume I own noth.

Chapter Nine

Drake loved spending time at the gym. The treadmill was his friend, but the dumbbells were his buddies. 

He loved feeling the movement of his muscles and arms as he worked out. The natural way. Compared  
to the wanks who thought they were tough getting their muscles out of a bottle.

Speaking of wanks, one was giving him the stink eye from the elliptical. 

Drake ignored him. The ignoring was not mutual.

The hulk sauntered over to him. Drake laid on his back, pushing steel, staring up at the boy leaning over him, into his space. Suddenly he started spouting all kinds of bullshit, in a nasally, annoying voice.

Drake continued his reps.

"Tell your fucking whore that if she thinks we're scared of her, she's got something else coming."  
Drake's arm stilled. 

The boy couldn't take a hint. "What? Huh? You just gonna sit there and take it? Fucking Pansy. Just like your bitc-" 

He was cut off by the crunch of his own nose as a 30 lb dumbbell was shoved in his face.

Drake swore it was an accident. The boy just lent over a bit too much. 

The guard watching the whole situation unfold didn't agree, and Drake was promptly placed in solitary  
confinement.

****

Drake tried to sleep in the tiny cell, on the cot that barely kept his legs in, but his thoughts kept him awake, along with the biting cold. It was freezing, even with all his clothes and shoes on. 

He had always been protective of Jenette, at least for the two years he'd known her. He didn't regret breaking the boy's nose, and he certainly didn't regret defending her honor. But he knew his actions would eventually come back to bite both of them on the arse. And that, he'd regret.

They were troublemakers, always been and always will be. They could never be content with following the straight and narrow. Education, office job, marriage, kids: the whole white picket fence, American Dream. 

Too predictable, and not fun at all. Bound to eventually end in alcoholism. Just look at his divorced brother. 

No, Drake didn't want that. But he was alright here. And that had to do, in some part, with Jenette's presence.

She made things exciting. Spicing his life up, she was the taco seasoning in a salad. Bad metaphor, but so very true.

But he was scared. When he got out, and it would be soon, she wouldn't be there. He would face a world of white pickets as the only stained one. Adult prison wasn't even for him, he just wasn't dark and crooked enough. Not a murderer, a rapist, or a drug dealer, but not perfectly perfect either. He had no place to fit in this crazy world, and no talents considered useful in a capitalist society. Or any society for that matter. He just felt so fucking worthless. 

A tiny knock on the door abruptly cut him out of his musings.

"Drake, I'm breaking you out for the night." Jenette's voice was hardly audible through the heavy steel door. The clicking, however, let him know she was fiddling with the locks. Suddenly the door flung open, and there she stood, a halo of florescent light surrounding her.

An angel.

"Hurry up pendejo, before they catch us."

His foul mouthed angel.

She tossed him a coat.

****

They went to their makeshift shooting range. Which was just the roof of a abandoned wing of the jail. It was just far enough away from the main building for no one to hear the sound of them shooting blanks down at the nearby trees. 

The night was bright, the stars pouring light from a clear, cloudless sky. The jail was located far from the city, into whatever little unpopulated country remained in SoCal. The higher altitude made the air fresher and cleaner compared to the urban sprawls. The area around the San Jacinto Mountains was particularly  
known for its cold and windy nights. 

Especially tonight the high winds and blowing leaves didn't allow for the ideal practice conditions.  
Jenette sighed, and tucked the weapon back in her boot after checking the safety.

"You know, you should really think of finding a better place to put that." Drake pointed out. "It doesn't look safe, all that jiggling about." Jenette rolled her eyes, ignoring his advice.

Drake walked over to the railing, looking down into the forest with interest. He could see some rustling about, and noticed a bobcat peek its head out of the trees. Looking up at him the animal cocked its head.

"Mark?" Jenette whispered, her voice soft.

He sharply turned to face her, and the bobcat took off. She surprised him too. Jenette hardly ever called him by his first name.

"I want to leave." She continued, voice tight. Jenette had a tough time expressing weakness. She preferred to hide her true emotions behind a grin. But Drake knew her well enough to know when she was hurting.

"Why? In just two years you'll be out of here, it's not a long time. Plus time flies so fast in here, with you."  
He smiled reassuringly. Inside all he could hear was that she wanted to leave him.

"You'll be gone in a year. And then it'll just seem like I'm wasting my life away. This place has nothing to offer me. That pointless fight for the respect I'll never gain here, helped me realize it." She sighed. "We are both just wasting our time. I want to see the world, travel, conquer...." She walked over to Drake, and leaned on the railing beside him. She turned her head up to the glittering night, studying the sky.  
"Explore the universe."

She wants the same things he does.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her chestnut hair gave off blue and purple hues from the light pouring from the sky. Her lips quirked in a smirk as she turned to look at him.

"What are you staring at?"

You.

"You have a leaf caught in your afro." He ran his fingers through her hair, extricating the hapless leaf. He let his hand linger longer than necessary.

"That's fresh, coming from a snowman." She growled lightly, never dropping her smirk.  
He dropped his arm to her shoulder, pulling her closer. 

"Mark?"

"Hmm?"

"I want you to come with me."

His heart beat just a little bit faster as he asked the question that would determine their whole future.  
"Where?"

"I don't have the foggiest."

He snorted, raising an invisible eyebrow.

"I just want us to stay together." She explained. "We could be like those guys from that old film. You know, the one that takes place in Bolivia where they blow up a lot of things?"

Drake barks a laugh. "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?"

"That's the one." She grinned.

"Didn't they die in the end...?"

She crossed her arms, pouting. "Cabron! They never showed that on the screen. They faced off that firing squad, guns a blazing."

"A'right Butch, whatever you say." Laughing, he crooked a grin.

Jenette punched him in the arm. "Go back to your cell." 

"Oh, come on, don't be like that." He reached down and tickled her ribs. She batted his hand away.

"They're coming tomorrow, Drake." All seriousness returned.

"You mean..." He trailed off. His hand dropping to his side.

"Yeah, and I'm going to sign up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's it going? If you like, stroke my ego and leave a comment, or criticism.  
> Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was actually preserved in the Library of Congress for being bloody fucking awesome. So it stands to reason that it would have survived 200 years into the future, and would still be considered a classic, like Shakespeare's plays.


	10. Crack Whores and Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some character building for Jenette.

Chapter Ten

A few hours before Mark Drake broke a boy's nose with a dumbbell.

****

It's a great honor to serve your country.

The obnoxious poster of a woman in military getup holding a smartgun, had those words plastered over the front in big cheerful text.

Jenette snorted and walked away, but not before she stored the date and time of the recruitment rally in her mind. "Could be something fun to throw a stink bomb in." She thought.

A few meters away she noticed one of Morozko's "enforcers" leaning against a doorway, staring intently at her, and she knew she had been putting off that follow up meeting for much too long.

****

When she walked into his room she noticed the large flexible screen covering most of his wall, it wasn't there last time she visited his cell. A tapestry computer; one of those expensive pieces of technology she'd seen on tv. Shifting and moving as it kept track of the latest trend or whatever was going on in the world, located conveniently on a wall and able to rolled and stored. It was currently fixated on Russia, with a constant flow of Cyrillic script and images. 

"You wanted to speak to me Morozko?" Jenette glanced at the thin boy sitting at his desk, sheets of paper scattered everywhere, before her eyes went back to the moving large map of Russia covering most of his wall.

He looked up at her, his pale eyes following hers to where she was staring. "Do you like it Kotyonok? It is my prized possession." He stared at the moving images fondly. "My father sent it to me a few days ago. A reward of sorts, but more of a condescending digital tutor." Shrugging he continued. "It never fails to remind me how out of touch I've been with all that is transpiring in my native Russia these years I've been stuck in this depressing country." He got up from his seat and leaned against his desk. 

Jenette walked forward to face the map. The map could literally do anything, including connect with satellites and CCTV cameras located all around the world. She knew exactly what she wanted to see. Reaching her hand out to the news stories and shifting stock market. She stopped herself just in time. "May I?

Morozko expression was as stoic as ever as he nodded his head.

She stretched her finger out, touching the cool, flexible screen. Swiping her hand, she shifted the map's view away from Russia, and to her native Lincoln Heights. Carmen said the town had changed, but she never knew this much. There were developments everywhere; malls, and high-rises. Much different from the old houses and desert cacti habitual to her suburb. No, her home.

She glanced at Morozko out of the corner of her eye. What would he think if she looked up the address that appeared on Carmen's letters? He must already know her background, he had enough connections. Her curiosity was killing her, so she spoke the address aloud, and the map took it from there.

Up popped a dilapidated apartment block. Jenette studied it. Their roof was obviously leaking, and the plaster on the walls peeling. She sighed lifting her finger off the screen and turned back to Morozko.

He was staring at the building curiously. "The lives of the lower classes in the outside world are always interesting to study." He turned to face her. "But in here, we're all equal." Gesturing to his room he continued. "One bunk, one desk, three meals a day. It's all very curious..."

"Not as equal as you think." Jenette raised her eyebrows. "You don't have a roomate."

He barked a laugh. "I guess you are right. My money buys a lot in this place, including respect." He stared directly into her eyes, driving home his point.  
It hit Jenette directly in the gut. She narrowed her eyes.

"My dear Kotyonok I know the real reason for that delightful show you put on. You say it was for those metal bullets, but know," He reached and cupped her cheek, stroking her face with his fingers, "I understand."

Jenette stiffened and purposely stepped out of his grip.

"What would you know about fighting for respect, Tolstoy?" She pointed to the electronic map, still focused on her family's living situation. "When your daddy buys you everything."

Morozko didn't even react to the insult. "It is precisely because he gives me everything, that I know how you feel, dear girl." He grinned savagely. "Do you think I am King of this place because I am physically strong?" He shook his head. "No, it is precisely because of my 'daddy's money'." 

"What? So I'll be eaten alive because I have no money? I survived just fine in LA on my strength alone."

"Yes, that why you are here." He retorted sarcastically.

"Fuck you Morozko."

"And that, right there, is a prime example of why you are so unpopular here. And why everyone wants to kill you. Your temper controls you."

She folded her arms under her chest. "I don't take any bullshit from anyone, not even you." She glared at him.

"And that's exactly why I like you, bitch." He snarled at her. "You entertain me to no ends."

Jenette's lip twitched. She opened her mouth to let loose a string of obscenities. 

"And that's why I'm leaving you everything." He gestured to all around him. 

Her mouth snapped shut.

"I want you, Jenette Vasquez. In more ways than one." His eyes raked over her body. "But most of all I desire loyalty, fealty, devotion... as you Americans say, the whole nine yards."

She frowned.  
"Soon you'll understand the politics of this world properly enough. The only reason I'm being released is because my father is dying. He paid your government to keep me here until now, away from his business and money."

In disbelief she said. "So you expect me to believe that you're innocent?"

He snorted, "Far from it. But I am the son of a billionaire, do you think this country could keep me here without his permission, and for this long? No, I figured out what he was planning a long time ago." He looked down a shadow covering his eyes. "I am a pawn. But I still get what I want. The man I call father will soon be dead, and I will have everything belonging to him."

"What the fuck does your inferiority complex have to do with me?" 

He moved so fast, and was in front of her in an instant. He grabbed her face with one hand and pulled her to his height, stopping only when her face was inches from his own. Her legs dangling inches off the ground. He gripped her cheeks so hard, she bit her tongue, and blood started trickling down from her pursed lips. "I want it all, Kotyonok, and more. My empire will surpass my father's. And I know I need my contacts to survive in this world." He widened his eyes, his look containing just a hint of insanity, as he stared deeply at her. "You will keep my business up and running in this country. I will give you the method, the means, the transportation, and-"

He was cut off suddenly as Jenette shoved her knee into his groin. He let go of her with a shriek of pain, and she landed on her feet. "I will not be your fucking crack whore!" She spat a wad of blood onto his carpet. Wiping her mouth she yelled at the painfully crouched figure of Morozko Tolstoy. "I don't fucking need you, you piece of shit, I can make my own way. And I will never be your pawn, Ever."

Morozko laughed hysterically. "Bitch, you'll never belong anywhere. You will always be a pawn." He shakily got to his feet. "I was going to give you so much, a position in my world, a title, a place in my bed. But, here you go, throwing it all away. Typical." 

She scoffed. "Yeah, a fifteen old with a god complex has a lot to offer."

"So what? You'll go run back to your handsome prince? I have exactly what he has, and money to top it off!"

"You sure know how to woo a girl." Sarcasm coating her words, she suddenly thought of the military poster, and a life she never imagined could be hers. Soon it might be the only place she could go. A life protecting those that couldn't protect themselves, away from all this political drama and intrigue. Fuck it all. She'll do exactly what she wanted to do the moment she was sent to this prison. Leave, explore, conquer and fucking simply decimate anything, or anyone that gets in her way. 

"What will you do now, bitch? I will withdraw my protection from you. Let this world eat you alive, I will watch content." He sneered.   
She smiled viciously at him. "Whatever I fucking want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a villain, betcha thought he was going to be a good guy, oooh no, he might even be the big bad.


	11. Death by Cats

Chapter Eleven

"Miss Vasquez why do you wish to join our fine establishment?"

Because I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night to find my throat slit.

"I've always admired the uniform. My neighbor, when I was growing up, was a retired marine and he always spoke fondly about the army."

Yeah, when he wasn't drinking away his sorry 200 lb ass in his cat infested apartment. When and if that man died, I swear, those cats will eat him.

The woman smiled warmly at Jenette. Looking down to her paper pad, she scribbled a few more things. She dismissed her with a hearty handshake, a farewell, and asked her to call in the next interviewee.

Jenette took off. Stopping only to tell the next kid that it was time for his ten minutes in hell.

The moment Jenette walked into that interview, the young woman gestured for her to sit opposite her borderline obsessively organized desk. She then proceeded to ignore Jenette for 9 minutes and 30 seconds while she shuffled around and wrote on papers, after which she asked the cryptic question.

Why.

Jenette knew her answer. She just didn't think the prim proper woman in stilettos and a pant suit would appreciate it. Or even understand it.

She startled Drake, in the cafeteria, when the collapsed beside him on a seat, placing her tray of mystery meat beside his.

He was deep in thought, massaging his head. "So how was your interview." She asked him, amused by his fatigue.

"The man would not shut up." He sighed leaning back against the table. "Kept on talking 'bout how much of a service I would be doing my country by joining up." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "How 'bout you? Die from internal bleeding yet?"

She grinned. Sarcasm leaking through her pores, she replied in her best wilting flower, southern accent. "And Private Drake we haven't even made it to the battle field yet." 

He punched her lightly in the arm. "You haven't answered my question." 

"I wish I had your guy, mine just ignored me, I was tempted to stick my feet on her desk, just to see what would happen."

The both sighed and said at the same time, "Military types." Bursting into laughter, they sat down and tried to enjoy some mystery cafeteria food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chapter, plus I feel like this story is becoming funnier than I previously intended. I think I need to get them outta juvie and put them in the field, might even just skip training camp, lemme see...


	12. Synthetics and Secretaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an idea for 2 more chapters, but after that I can't guarantee a regular update. I know where the story is going, it's the getting there that's tough.

Chapter Twelve 

Morozko hated being kept waiting.

For two years he had been waited on, hand and foot, and his affinity for patience faded a while ago. 

He could hardly sit still. The incessant tapping of his feet sounded like a drum in the cavernous waiting lounge. So much so, his father's secretary blatantly sent him a few glares. He chose to ignore the man.

What was taking so long?

He got up and strode to the secretary, intent on taking the shit out of him.

What could keep a dead man walking away from his company's future?

"What is keeping my father?"

The man glared up at Morozko, before cracking out into a very large, very fake smile.

"Sir will call you in soon." He smiled even wider, threatening to split his lips, "I could fetch you some snacks, if you'd like, Young Master."

That fucking bastard.

Morozko knew he would not be respected when he got back home. Being put away in a foreign jail by one's own father, tends to do that to a reputation. He just didn't even imagine he would be laughed at by a mere secretary. 

Before he could shoot daggers at the man, a woman's sharp voice reverberated down the hall. "That won't be necessary Kirill. He's already eaten."

Morozko recognized the voice. He just couldn't recall from where.

When the woman finally stepped around the corner, into view, he cursed his stupidity. "Mother."

"Welcome home Morozko." The young woman in a tight pantsuit looked him up and down. "Hmm, you've changed."

"Well you look exactly the same." He regarded the woman he called mother with the same clinical air.

"Funny, boy, funny." She stared him intrepidly in the eye, "You know as well as I do, synthetics don't age." 

"I wish you would, I'm starting to look like you." They were so alike in looks and gait, if it wasn't for the woman's waist length white hair and her bright red lipstick, she could be his twin.

An exact replica of his deceased birth mother. Fashioned from a brain scan, taken while she was slowly dying in a coma, and all the collective memories of his father, and her closest friends. 

Beautiful Vasilisa 2.0 was created, half a synthetic, half a clone. She was the Tolstoy corporation's greatest achievement, and Koschei Tolstoy's greatest pleasure. She could walk through a firestorm, lift ten times her weight, and still look completely flawless. 

And the Weyland-Yutani Corporation still thought they had the groundbreaking artificial intelligence. Their military synthetics were created for wear and tear, with no real personality. They were simple walking talking computers. 

Tolstoy synthetics were art. Pure and simple art. A true A.I. that could learn and develop on its own. The natural brain supplemented by the metal, wires and silicone of a synthetic. A biological computer. 

One never really had to say goodbye to a loved one. So long as a customer had the money, they could get an exact replica of any creature with DNA. Deceased pets were extremely popular. 

However Tolstoy pieces were priced at a hefty penny, but those who could afford them, bought them. 

Unfortunately, they were also extremely illegal in the United States, most of Europe, and Canada. Cloning was a touchy subject in many areas, especially human cloning. Something his father ached to change, human rights and justice were highly advocated by his company in order to persuade some people that the Tolstoy Corporation was not in fact the devil incarnate. Something, Morozko suspected, had to do with his 2 year confinement.

Stuck in a foreign juvenile detention center because his father wanted to be on the good side of America, and because he wanted his conniving son as far away from his base of operations as possible. 

As if he could keep him away forever. Morozko had a way of doing things; getting information, without anyone being the wiser.

His father didn't even notice the tiny chip in his mother's A.I. And fortunately neither did his mother.

****

"I've put together a few documents that will help you integrate back into the company." His mother said, handing him a tablet. "It lists our research, new developments, who holds our stocks, and the like." She looked at him seriously, "Make sure you read it carefully, it is all very important."

He rolled his eyes. Because of the tiny microchip he was already up to date, and more, but she didn't need to know that, so he played along. "Yes, mother."

She led him further, and further down the hall, halting every once in a while in front of reinforced doors peppered with extensive security checks.

His mother finally stopped in front of a white nondescript door, and opened it for him.

Stepping inside, it wasn't what Morozko expected.

Instead of bed holding his dying father, a plain office chair sat in the middle of the room on top of a sea of hideous carpeting. In front of the chair laid a hologram projector. 

He turned back to her, "What is going on?" He pointed to the chair. "This is not funny."

His mother stared at him stoically, "The doctor does not want you in the same room as your father."

"What? Why?"

She answered simply, "You may be infected with a pathogen." She pointed to the projector, "He will speak with you from there."

"But-"

"He will be with you shortly, and I will come to fetch you in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes? That's it?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Yes. Why would you possibly need more?" And with that she closed the door and left him alone in the massive white walled room.

Morozko grumbled all the way to his seat. "He's my fucking father, for god's sake. You'd think I'd get to see him before he croaks." He crossed his arms. "Fucking better not keep me waiting again."

He didn't. A few seconds later the projector groaned to life, throwing out a long beam of light, ending with the shape of a shriveled old man on a hospital gurney.

"Father." Morozko greeted him.

Koschei Tolstoy regarded him with rheumy eyes. He slowly lifted his wrinkled holographic arm to a pad on the side of the gurney. 

"Vasilisa." Croaked a robotic voice.

Morozko frowned "No father, it's me, your son."

Instantly the robotic voice answered. "I have no son. My wife is dead."

"Father, I was born months before she died." Morozko couldn't understand how this could be the great Koschei Tolstoy. From what he understood he was still making all the important decisions in the company. But how could this feeble man, with obvious degenerative Alzheimer's still be the CEO?

"Where is Vasilisa, my wife." The robotic voice churned. 

Morozko suddenly wondered if he knew much less than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed yet, I adore Russian folklore, so the whole Tolstoy family can be found there. Vailisa the beautiful, Koschei the deathless, and Jack Frost aka Morozko.


End file.
